Page 112 of Point of No Return

“No.”

“Lusting?”

“Maybe.” My mind veers into darker territory at the idea, and I have to force myself not to think about how it felt to have her gagging on my cock.

“Gazing?”

“Closer.” I smile as she shakes her head.

She pops an eye open and rolls onto her stomach, propping her head on her elbow to look at me. “What are you still doing up?”

I contemplate whether to admit that she’s been what’s keeping me up all night. I doubt that she’ll still be here in the morning if I tell her the truth.

I settle on “Can’t fall asleep.”

She sits up fully, and with her tits on full display for me again, I can hardly concentrate on the fact that she’s crawling into my lap until she settles there. My cock is already painfully hard for her.

Her fingers trace over my chest, stopping just over my left pec where a jagged scar is tattooed over.

“What’s this one from?”

Her question catches me off guard, and I watch those green eyes flicker as she raises a brow.

“My father,” I admit. I forget which fights most of them came from, but I memorized where every blow had made its mark.

Her fingers trail to the mark across my right side, just below my ribs. I swallow as she presses a kiss against my neck and asks, “This one?”

This scar, I remember. I try to focus on her question. I grip her waist, my hands rough as she teasingly brushes over my hardening length.

“His cane.”

She doesn’t pull away, doesn’t clam up with pity as she nods. Her fingers trail up, up, up to the side of my face to the white scar just above my brow. “And this one?”

I hiss when she grinds over me, my cock slick with her arousal. I grit my teeth. “Crew actually.”

She raises a brow, and I only dig my fingers into her ass as she moves her hips over me again.

Her ass is going to be so sore when I’m done with her.

“He throws a mean left hook.”

She hums, the sound so fucking sweet I’m tempted to bend her over and fuck her against the headboard, but her lips find my neck and her tongue traces my pulse and all rational thought goes out the window.

Her fingers sketch down my jaw and over my chest to my arm where the lingering mark from a bullet wound mars my skin. I got it that night with Crew years ago when a bullet grazed me, and I tell her as such. She has this curious look on her face like she wants to ask more, but she nods, smiling as her nails gently scrape down my arms.

Then she grinds down on me, and I groan at the same time my hands brush over the scars on her back. I still, anger hot in my chest as it hits me again that she knows. She knows what it’s like.

If anyone ever lays a hand on her again…

Charlie shakes her head, her face passive as she watches me. “I don’t want to talk about it.”

I nod, knowing I’m one move from scaring her off. “Then we don’t talk about it.”

Her eyes search mine, and she relaxes into my touch after a moment, sinking down and grinding against me again.

My head falls against the joint of her neck, my hands gripping her hips and dragging her over me as I inhale her vanilla scent.

“You’re supposed to be sleeping,” I growl against her, my lips, my tongue, tracing over her skin.

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